Tad, like other young men, looked to the
spaceways for adventure. But George Barlow, like
other fathers, knew that disaster would end his—
WANDERLUST
By Alan E. Nourse
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
October 1952
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Somehow George Barlow had sensed that something was wrong the moment his son drove into the barnyard that evening. He had been waiting impatiently for Tad's return all afternoon; the men needed those tractor bolts before they could do the mowing. But George had felt the uneasiness, quite suddenly, deep in his chest when he heard the boy's three-wheeler chugging up the rutted country road from town.
He sat quietly, waiting, stroking old Snuffy behind the ears. He heard the little motor-car pop into silence as Tad drove it into the garage; then there was a long silence. George waited several minutes before running a hand through his tawny hair. "What's that boy doing out there, anyway?" he growled.
Florence Barlow glanced up through the kitchen window. "He's gone up on the ridge," she said. "He's just standing up there, looking down the valley." She turned back to the stove, pushing back an unruly whisp of graying hair.